Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance by Amy Patricia Meade Page A

here at Kensington House, and I don’t
want to add to your workload, but I love your cooking so much
that I was wondering if you could bake my wedding cake.”
    The servants exchanged astonished glances.
    “Your wedding cake, Miss?” Arthur asked, his eyes wide with
surprise.
    “Yes, didn’t Mr. Ashcroft tell you?”
    “No,” Agnes replied giddily, “he must have been waiting for this
morning to make a formal announcement.”
    Formal announcement? Marjorie knitted her brow. “I know the
English are very much into pomp and circumstance, but why would
Creighton make a formal announcement of my engagement to Detective Jameson?”
    “Detective Jameson?” they cried in unison.
    “Yes, Detective Jameson,” she answered in bewilderment. “Who
did you think I was marrying?”

    At that moment, Creighton breezed onto the patio dressed in a
summer-weight dark blue suit. “Good morning, all. Did I miss anything?” He plopped into the chair beside Marjorie and placed his
napkin in his lap.
    “No sir,” disclaimed Arthur as he handed him a neatly folded
newspaper.
    Agnes began pouring coffee from a silver pot. “Miss McClelland was just informing us of her impending nuptials.”
    “Oh yes. What with yesterday’s excitement, I forgot to tell you
both about it. Marvelous, isn’t it?” Creighton asked cheerfully.
    “It is?” Marjorie asked in disbelief. Was this the same man who
had attempted to dissuade her from matrimony because she didn’t
know her fiance’s childhood nickname?
    “Of course it is,” Creighton assured her, raising his juice glass,
and I’m sure I speak for both Arthur and Agnes when I wish you
and the good detective a long, happy life together.”
    “Hear, hear,” the servants replied mechanically.
    “And I’d be happy to bake your wedding cake, Miss,” Agnes added
tepidly.
    “You’re baking the wedding cake, Agnes?” Creighton asked his
cook.
    “I hope you don’t mind my asking her,” Marjorie stated apologetically.
    “Mind? I think it’s a bang-up idea. Agnes makes the best cakes
this side of the Atlantic. And don’t worry about buying the ingredients, Marjorie. I’ll take care of everything.”
    “Thank you,” muttered Marjorie, dumbfounded by his change
in attitude.

    The Englishman turned around in his chair to face the cook.
“And Agnes, I’ll pay you double your wages for the time you spend.”
    “Thank you, sir,” she answered softly. In spite of Creighton’s generous offer, she seemed oddly despondent. “I’d better go tend to my
dirty dishes,” she excused herself and then went back into the house.
    Arthur stood stiffly before his master. “Is there anything else you’ll
be needing, sir?”
    “No, I think we’re set. Thank you.”
    “Then I shall be inside.” Arthur bowed and made his leave.
    “Seems my engagement makes for unpopular news,” Marjorie
observed after the butler had left.
    “What, that? They’re just taken aback by the suddenness of the
whole thing, but they’ll settle down once they get used to the idea.”
He polished off his orange juice with one swig and smacked his
lips together. “Why, just look at me. I’m a changed man.”
    Marjorie dipped a spoon into her strawberries. “Remarkably so,”
she muttered suspiciously.
    He broke off a piece of a cinnamon bun and chewed it pensively
before swallowing. “I daresay you’ve changed as well. It’s unlike you
to be thinking of anything so serious as a wedding when there’s a
murder mystery to be solved. Or have you decided to make your
future husband happy by giving up sleuthing in favor of knitting?”
    “What? And lose the title of Miss Never-Say-Die?” She picked up
her coffee cup and took a sip. “Besides, I don’t know how to knit.”
    “Really? I’m surprised. After all, you’re an excellent weaver.”
    Marjorie replaced the cup on its saucer. “Weaver?”
    With a boyish grin, Creighton picked up his own coffee cup. “Yes,
of